All Good Things Must End
by brandstifterin
Summary: It's Sahira Shah's last day at Holby and Henrik Hanssen is finding it hard to accept that she is leaving. A (long-overdue) one-shot dedicated to Somerach for the 75th review of 'The Next Step'.


**AN: A one-shot dedicated to Somerach for the 75th review of 'The Next Step'. I hope this meets with your approval :-) **

**Sorry about the huge delay, there were a couple of bits I just couldn't get right. The prompt was Hanssen's point of view of Sahira's last day at Holby.**

**There are probably some spelling mistakes in the medical terminology, I tried my best to get them right but I'm a Statistician, not a Doctor (and hopefully not as odd a parody of Dr. McCoy as I sound). **

**Usual disclaimers apply, I don't own anything to do with Holby City, I'm merely borrowing some of the characters for a little while; I'll put them back when I'm done. **

* * *

He'd slept badly.

Tossing and turning for most of the night, around 5:30 he'd given up on getting any more sleep. Instead of getting up, he lay in bed, leaving his glasses on the bedside table and watched as the slightly blurred red figures on his alarm display tick away the remaining time until he has to get up. Hanssen had waited and put off getting to face the day as long as he could because it would mean facing Sahira's last day at Holby.

He chastises himself as he mechanically shaves, performing the same actions as he has every morning for years. He's attaching too much significance to the day – making a mountain out of a molehill, an odd English idiom that he had always rather liked sums up his feelings quite neatly. They had worked together at three other hospitals before but each time he had been the one to leave first. He supposes he is getting a taste of his own medicine and he doesn't like the bitter flavour it leaves in his mouth.

There is nothing between him and Sahira apart from an odd pseudo-friendship, their relationship defies a conventional label and yet he feels... he feels hurt by her actions.

His thoughts flicker to Maja as they have done at some point every day since 1987 and he wonders how she felt when she realised what Hanssen had done, in running away back to England; Hanssen has always done the leaving, never been left behind before. He had never really allowed himself to think about how Maja would have felt, recently discovering that she was pregnant with his son. Hanssen still believes that his leaving was the only viable option, not that he let Maja have any choice in the matter.

Hanssen had convinced himself that Maja would be fine, Nils had always adored her, they got married and everything turned out just fine for them, precisely because Hanssen _wasn't_ involved. They all have his father to thank for that but the less said about the man, the better.

Hanssen honestly thought that Sahira would stay when he caved and gave her the Cardiac Trauma Unit. His belief was strengthened when her husband, Rafi accepted his job offer to tempt them into staying in Holby.

In the end it wasn't enough, he didn't have enough to offer her any more – the pupil is no longer reliant on the master. He blinks a couple of times, realising that he had been staring resignedly at his reflection, having completed his actions on autopilot.

Back in his bedroom, Hanssen selects a dark grey suit and impulsively adds a waistcoat, not only because it will probably be a cold day but an extra piece of armour to ward off the inevitable emotional blows he'll be dealt today.

His hand lingers on a tie that Sahira had given him for his birthday one year but decides against wearing it, thinking that if she remembers the item's origins, she'll misread his decision, using emotions rather than logic to reach a faulty conclusion; regardless, he allows his fingers to run down the silk, savouring the feel of the cool material for a few seconds before promptly selecting the tie next to it.

His appetite having deserted him, Hanssen makes the familiar journey to Holby City Hospital without any breakfast and decides to treat the day like one would approach removing a plaster: best get the separation over with quickly.

* * *

He'd gone down to the bottom floor of the hospital, knowing that she'd soon be craving some caffeine and within two minutes of his arrival, she's there. She catches sight of him and he hates that he knows her so well by now. She beams at him, he's always been a sucker for that – no-one else beams when they see him and he is like a moth to flame, caught off guard when she thrusts out a hand which contains a neatly wrapped present.

He pauses for a moment before accepting it, wondering if he should have gotten her something before chiding himself to stop being ridiculous. He didn't need to get her anything and it's only her overly-emotional nature which has unnecessarily compelled her to buy him whatever this is...

"Oh, how awkward, the Shillings brought me one of these for Christmas."

"Yes, but _mine_ is embossed." She turns it over in his hands and he is touched by the present and the effort she's gone to and he suspects that she knows, despite his attempts to behave otherwise.

"Useful if I forget my name." Apparently thanking her is too much to ask.

"Well, it's just a thank you, you know, for everything."

"Very well. Best of British." He tries to act distantly, unhappy that she has just made the day that little bit harder.

"Goodbye Sahira? Good luck in Nottingham?" She follows him and he doesn't quite get why she wants him to say goodbye, he's never said it before.

"Yes, good luck in Nottingham."

"Would it kill you to say something..."

"You want me to say something nice-" She wants him to say thank you but that would mean accepting the gift, accepting her leaving. It's ridiculous, they both know why she is leaving and it is completely unnecessary.

"I'm not 19, Henrik."

"No, but given your inability to stomach bad news, I thought I should remain silent on the topic."

"Thanks. I'll really miss your support." 'You have no idea', he thinks to himself.

"Indeed. It's a disastrous move." He comments loftily, contemplating if he should have kept her on gardening leave as they enter the lift together.

"How can consultancy be a demotion?" She's still peppering him with questions as they exit the lift onto Darwin's sixth floor ward.

"What was their rating, A2 was it?"

"So? I'll spread my wings and bring them up to our standard." He exhales softly at the way she tells him 'our standard'.

"We both know why you're going." Hanssen smiles politely at the nurse as he takes the offered clip board and dutifully signs the attached form.

"Isn't that Harry McMahon?"

"No idea." Despite what his students used to believe, Hanssen doesn't actually have eyes in the back of his head.

"End stage oesophageal carcinoma. So St. James' have dumped him on us."

"Oh that fellow, shouldn't he be dead by now?" Hanssen blinks, that was harsh, even for him. He is grateful that Sahira doesn't really react to it, offering a mild frown only – he often used to say deliberately inflammatory statements just for the enjoyment of seeing her react to them and he doesn't know when she became wise to the tactic.

"Uh, aren't we supposed to..."

"No. You go, _spread your wings_." He mimics as he strides off, pausing to observe as she deals with Mr. McMahon before huffing to himself and continuing on his way, not wanting her to see him still watching her after sixteen years. He makes his way off the ward, his fingers still unconsciously caressing the leather present, embossed with _his_ name.

* * *

"Look at the chest CT. Obviously it won't be easy but if you an oesophagal-gastrostemy, and I explored the fistula tear, then perhaps we'll be able to..." He listens half-heartedly to her plea, chiding himself when he idly wishes that she'd quieten down because he'll have all the Sahira-related silence anyone could want after today.

"No."

"Perhaps we'll be able to relieve the disphasia, at least that way he'll be able to swallow properly." Hanssen considers it typical of his luck that he burns his mouth during Sahira's statement and tries not to cough, covering the action with wiping his mouth with his napkin.

"How can you eat tomato soup, but hate tomatoes?"

"Well, a tomato pulverised is a tomato punished." He quips, the apparent topic change not bothering him and he watches Sahira get up out of the corner of his eye as he takes another spoonful of soup.

"Oh yes, of course, there has to be a punishment." He lets that comment go by as she stalks over to the windows.

"Waste of time."

"Yes, but he came to us, by us I don't just mean Holby." 'There is no _us_', he wishes to tell her.

"No."

"What, no? Just no?"

"Just no. He's too weak."

"But he's dying anyway."

"Precisely." 'Why bother on such a useless venture only to prolong the agony?' He doesn't voice his thoughts, not wanting Sahira to know he's anything other than unflappable and unbothered.

"So what, we just walk away?" 'You have', he thinks churlishly and once more holds his tongue.

"When have emotive arguments ever worked on me?" He ignores the tell-tale voice which tells him 'far too often when she is concerned'.

"We promised."

"Well, we all say things we don't mean, don't we."

"_I simply cannot let you go."_

"But will you at least talk to him?"

"No, I'm sorry, I'm long-listing this afternoon. For your replacement." He says pointedly.

"Fine." Sahira leaves the office without another word. He watches her go, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin and resists the urge to sigh, their exchanges always end up this way when she becomes emotional, they should both know better by now.

* * *

"It's uh, it's all they had I'm afraid." Hanssen stares down at a leaving card with teddies on it, his unasked question of what on earth possessed anyone to buy such a thing is answered by Elliot,

"Oh and if you could..." The other consultant jangles an envelope at him. He is careful to sign his name as close to 'you'll be missed' as he can get away with, wondering quite what else he needs to do.

"Yes, of course."

"Any suggestions? Apart from an Atlas from the Petrol Station." Hanssen reaches into his jacket and takes out his wallet, pulling out the first note he touches, £20. "Hmm, that's rather put me to shame."

"No idea."

"We've rather drawn a blank, Nottingham." Hanssen looks up for a brief moment, it still smarts, he'd mentored her better than that, she is so much better than Nottingham.

"Robin Hood, Merry Men..." Elliot is still waffling away to himself and having finished his brief message, Hanssen puts away his pen. "Do you know what sort of music she likes?"

"She dislikes _der Fliegende Hollande_, that's all I know." The memory still smarting and he strides off, determined to prove to himself that he isn't bothered by the day's events. Elliot calls him back.

"I thought I might quickly query the TF repair." The man's words stop him dead. "Actually, I'm surprised that you okayed it." His heart sinks and he turns around slowly to face Elliot.

"Look, I sense that as she is your _protégé_, you wish to support her but I'm not fully convinced that it is the wisest course for that patient on this day." He is disappointed and hopes it shows but he suspects that his face still too blank for Elliot to read but he knows someone who would know and he turns on the spot, ready to find her.

"I forbid you to carry out this-" Hanssen finds Sahira further along on Darwin, stood by the nurses' station

"Forbid? What actually forbid? What are you going to do? Bar the doors to theatre?" Part of him wants to throttle her, the other half of him wants to know what she is trying to prove with this stunt.

"You're clearly in no fit state to operate."

"What?"

"All this, motivated by..."

"Oh yes of course, I'm a girl, emotions must have got in the way, it's probably hormonal, I probably have an endocrine problem." That wasn't what he meant at all and after a split second of deliberation decides to continue with her point instead of what he was about to say, in some ways, glad for the reprieve.

"See? Completely overwrought."

"Oh well, you disapprove, luckily I'm no longer completely dependent on you for validation."

"Well, why would you be when you can drive your self-esteem from the fawning attentions of our finest beta males." His voice catches at the end and he hopes she doesn't hear it.

"Stand down." she moves away to a patient's trolley being wheeled through. "Mr. Hanssen is exercising his power of veto." Suddenly half a dozen faces turn to him, putting him on the spot. A very childish and petulant display from the newly crowned Nottingham CT Consultant.

"Ah, Ms. Shah misunderstands me, I'm afraid, I was merely offering insight into the vagaries of oesophageal surgery but carry on, thank you." He comments in his politest tone and the two of them stand there awkwardly until the patient is just out of hearing range, he moves to stand less than a metre away from her.

"This will not play out as you wish it, know that now." He states coldly and brushes past her on his way off the ward.

"Come on, please." He ignores her plea and walks away, trying to convince himself that he correct. Overly emotional people always make him uncomfortable, the sensation multiplied when he has no way to escape. He's taught her well, too well, perhaps. They are both as stubborn as one another and they are only going to end up really hurting one another if they carry on like this.

Hanssen returns to his office, taking the stairs rather than the lift and shutting the door firmly behind him, he paces. Fists clenched, breathing hard and the way the day is unravelling. He should have kept her on gardening leave and spared both of them this drawn out, point-scoring end. He continues to pace.

He stops pacing, having made his decision; Sahira has made her position quite clear, she wants to be free of Hanssen's overbearing yet opportunity-generating influence, that's fine with him, he isn't going to be caught mooning after her. There will be a few people interested in how she does, including himself but for very different reasons.

He dumps two box files onto his desk. He's still breathing hard, more anger and frustration than exertion as he piles up piece of paper after piece of paper on his desk; a copy of her admittance to the Royal College of Surgeons, several of her research papers. Reaching the second box file, he pulls an unused _Der Fliegende Hollande_ ticket and adds it to the pile.

The photo they'd had taken after pioneering surgery when she was still under his control, he doesn't need a copy of it, he can see it, burned into the back of his mind. The image will undoubtedly torment him the same way that the mural which is still on the wall of his flat in Stockholm doesn't let him forget what he did to Maja.

His breath catches again as he picks up his Swedish-English dictionary, it's his school one, when he was on his own at an English boarding school. Opens up and reads the message he'd once wistfully scribbled in.

_For Miss Shah_

_Forstand = Understanding _

_H.H. _

He slams it shut. Adding it to the pile.

Hanssen dismisses _his_ emotional response, it's beyond time he cleared this out – there is no reason for him to have kept all of this, this long anyway. Before he can change his mind, he picks it all up and adds it to the bag of recycling. The photo slips out of the bag and he screws it up and he takes a second go to discard it.

The bag tears as he adds the dictionary last and it sums up their relationship of late.

He takes a few moments to gather his composure before venturing out of the safety of his office, down to the basement.

Makes his way to the furnace and opens the door, feeling the sweat immediately begin to appear on his skin, under the thick woollen suits he wears. Gathering the contents of the bag which have spilled, he spends a final moment looking at it before he stuffs it all inelegantly into the fire 'the end of an era' he thinks, as he slams the furnace door shut, not noticing that the bag had split, dropping the dictionary.

"A call has come through from Darwin theatre." His moment of reflection is broken by Elliot, noisily charging down the stairs. "I believe they have hit a wall."

"Well, uh, can I leave that one to you, please. I have a meeting." He is just about holding himself together and his earlier words to Sahira return to haunt him, 'clearly overwrought'.

"I think your input would be more appropriate." Hanssen's mobile phone rings and he is grateful for the distraction. "I do have a, have a meeting."

"You really are very tricky to find, do you come here often?" Hanssen ignores Elliot and answers his phone.

"Sister Williams, is it? Certainly. Mr. Malick making a fist of it, is he? Right ho." Looks back at Elliot.

"Well, I am unavailable, I am embroiled on Keller." He heads back up the stairs that Elliot has just descended, hoping he can leave before Elliot decides to impart some unnecessary and unwanted pearls of wisdom.

"She needs your help. You should go to her." Elliot's words annoy him, he's catered to Sahira's whims enough over the years and especially recently and it's gotten no-one anywhere. He doesn't break his stride as he leaves the basement.

* * *

"Well, this has been a splendid waste of energy." Hanssen enters the Darwin theatre and ignores Jac.

"I couldn't have known this."

"It was predicted." He rather thought he'd made his views clear, his answer would have been the same regardless of the situation between them. "Terrible monitoring. Futile fight with death. Perhaps you should apologise to Ms. Naylor?"

"Keep me out of this." Hanssen rather thinks that is one of the more sensible and less insulting things, Jac Naylor has said to him this week.

"Right, let's tie off the artery."

"I'm not going to apologise for doing my job."

"Perhaps you should offer your apologies to the room."

"I genuinely believed this was salvageable."

"I think hope clouded your judgement. As you can see, you need me to rescue the situation. Gently remove the clamp."

"Basic manners, just say you were wrong". He watches Sahira leave the operating table after a brief staring contest. "You will stay here and watch me perform a gastrostemy that will at least allow a dying man to eat."

"Pass Ms. Shah the kidney dish." As she attempts to move past him, he intercepts her, it's become a matter of pride now and convinced he's won this round, he moves back to table.

"Too late. I've already resigned." She tosses the dish in the air and leaves.

"Wow." Jac adds, Hanssen scowls under his mask.

"Well, that was rather marvellous. Great team. Thank you all and well done, Ms. Naylor." Hoping he's said it loud enough for Sahira to hear. He can see her standing rigidly at the nurses' station.

"Thank you, it was my pleasure." For once Hanssen is rather glad of Jac's almost petty comment as she wanders off and appearing outwardly indifferent, Hanssen strides over to his one-time _protégé. _

"Aspiration pneumonia compromised the lungs – worse than we thought." She hands him the iPad.

"Ah well. At least you won't be here to watch him die." That harsh comment sums up his feelings about the day.

"Why do you say that?"

"Time wasting." He hands back the iPad. "No greater crime."

"Will you at least help me debrief."

"I'm afraid I have a meeting." His voice is a little softer as he sees her reaction. He asked Sahira a question earlier about when emotive arguments have ever worked on him; the answer is whenever it involves her.

"Best of British," he adds softly and strides away.

Sat at the desk in his fifth floor office, Hanssen ignores the work in front of him, holding his head in his left hand pinching the bridge of his nose, his glasses discarded in front of him. He allows the music to wash over him, by nature Hanssen is far more emotional than he'd ever let anyone else see.

As a child Hanssen was always easy to read, his feelings projected onto his face, a trait encouraged by his mother. When his mother died, Hanssen took the British phrase 'stiff upper lip' to the extreme. During that particular phase of reinventing himself, he over-developed his ability to distance himself emotionally from anyone and everyone and has been paying for it ever since.

"I have never seen anything so cold." He puts his glasses back on hurriedly and turns the music off, he didn't hear the knock at his office door as Sahira enters.

"I thought this might be a lesson in hubris for you."

"What about him? What about how he has suffered? You should have helped. Him. Not me." Hanssen watches Sahira carefully, she has become more emotional as the day has progressed and it makes her far more difficult to predict and navigate conversations than normal. "No, but revenge on me is far more important than your stupid patient."

"Intervention wouldn't have been appropriate."

"Of course, because you never get emotionally involved." By now he has his composure back and leans back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms.

"I try not to." It doesn't mean that he doesn't and Sahira has never picked up on the difference. Irrespective of how much effort it takes to maintain the cool façade, it is always less than the energy expelled by his colleagues as they get worked up and agitated.

"Which is why you're so perfect."

He scoffs, he's far from perfect. "I do think it contributes to my low morbidity rates, yes."

"Because you're one of the winners." He offers another pained smile and scoff. It wouldn't have been his first choice description, or even in his top 50.

"You with your brilliant career and your empty life."

"Brilliance does have its sacrifices, I suppose."

"Well, if brilliant means being like you, then I'll take mediocrity any day because I don't want to be an emotionless freak who takes pleasure in other people's lack of self-control." He nods as if to say 'are you quite done?' The conversation has descended quite rapidly and best friend or not, he has no desire to sit here and listen to Sahira remind him of his character flaws, he is well aware of them and doesn't require such a personalised reminder.

"Have we finished?" Sahira dodges the loaded question.

"Please, tell me. Tell me what have I done, why do you despise me all of a sudden?"

"I don't despise you, that's not how I feel at all."

"Well, what then? Why all the venom? What is it?" Hanssen warily watches her getting closer to the desk again. He's debating what to say, bottling his confidence at the last moment, still glad of the barrier between them.

"You know how this job can be some times. I'm simply trying to help you."

"That's absolute rubbish and you know it." He does, it was a rather poor attempt at deflection, he feels. "Just please, tell me, what have I ever done to you? Why all this contempt? Do you..." He's staring at her, waiting for what she is about to say.

"What?" She's caught his interest with that aborted statement.

"Nothing. Nothing." She looks back out the window, avoiding his gaze. "Do you-"

"What?" He asks, his tone challenging her.

"Are you in love with me?" He blinks, that wasn't the question he was expecting and he remains still, turning her words over in his mind.

"Am I in love with you?" Hanssen repeats Sahira's question after a moment of contemplation, partly to be certain he has the wording right and partly to put the pressure back onto Sahira.

"It's what everyone's saying." He remains still, a little disappointed, how clichéd of her and whoever put the idea into her head.

Of course he isn't in love with her.

Hanssen couldn't ever do that to her; he'd destroy her, like his father's legacy ensures he must. He _can't_ call it love. Refuses to accept it's love, he feels too much for her to ever do that to her. It is a little delusional of him but if he doesn't say the words, if he doesn't say that he loves Sahira, then it isn't his fault when she gets hurt and he can safely blame Sahira and Maja for their inevitable pain and heart ache. If he had ever been weak enough to say he loved them, then he could only have blamed himself.

"No." Shakes his head. "For Goodness sakes, no. I mean, what on earth, no. Who put that idea in your head?" Once he gets his first refusal out of his mouth, it becomes easier to deny, the words gaining momentum.

"I don't think that. I don't, it's just that people are saying these things."

"And you're listening to them? I thought you'd be above that."

"Just let me explain, please-"

"No. I won't." Hanssen uses the opportunity, not wanting to listen to her explanation or to her whining or to offer his own explanation. "Get out of my office will you, Sahira, go on, get out. Out." He throws an arm around her shoulder, ignoring her sniffling and bodily guides her to the exit.

"Out, out, shoo, shoo. Get out." The last bit has some bite to it and he closes the door behind her smartly, staring at it, long after her footsteps have gone down the corridor wondering how his day has quite manage to spiral out of his control and into this soap opera.

He doesn't know how long he is stood at the door, staring at nothing but eventually concedes that he hasn't helped matters today and pulls open the office door, striding down the corridor, following Sahira's path to Darwin. Making his way onto the ward, Hanssen looks around, unable to find her, seeing Ms. Naylor at the Nurses' station, Hanssen heads that way.

As she insists on acting like a child, Hanssen supposes that he will have to make the first move and act like an adult; he has no desire for sixteen years of friendship to be thrown away because of Sahira's unfortunate proclivity of becoming emotional at the drop of a hat.

"Cupcake, in exchange for a Cardiac Trauma Unit?"

"No thank you." He carries on past Ms. Naylor, realising the woman isn't going to help him locate Sahira.

"Oh, what method did she use to get her own way?"

"She hasn't even left yet and you dance on her grave."

"Au contraire, Elvis has left the building." He turns back around, certain that he misheard the woman. "I'm sorry, did you not know?"

"Come on, come on, come on, come on." Ignoring Jac's smug look, Hanssen turns back the way he came, hurriedly pressing buttons to summon the lift. The lift takes too long to arrive and so Hanssen heads towards the stairwell instead.

"Mr. Hanssen, have you got a sec?" He silently curses the fact that Darwin is on the top floor and furthest away from the car park.

"Err, no. I have a meeting." He absently-mindedly wonders when people will see through the flimsy excuse. If he had half of the meetings that he said he did to various people today, he wouldn't get home until early Thursday morning.

"Look, Mr. Hanssen. Please..." Hanssen can't help but listen to Malick's worries as the registrar follows him down the stairs, usually people get the hint when they can't keep up with Hanssen's long strides but Malick is proving persistent and a problem as Hanssen chases after Sahira. As he gets down to the ground floor, Malick is still talking and now fed up of hearing the inane chatter Hanssen turns smartly.

"What on earth gave you the impression that I am interested in your weaknesses." He is gratified to note that his words finally silence the registrar and he is barely aware how Ric guides him away, Hanssen's focus on the hospital in front of him.

Diving out of the automatic doors, Hanssen makes less than half a dozen steps before he catches sight of her car as she drives past him, not having seen him.

He looks around, in the cold night partly checking to see if anyone has seen him and he is glad it is so cold, his behaviour doesn't appear to have been witnessed by anyone. He wills himself to act unaffected, exhaling forcefully as he fights to regain his composure still cursing the lift to not coming sooner, cursing Malick for delaying him, cursing himself for running after her again, cursing Sahira for making him run after her. He is just about to turn around and head back to his office when he spots Sahira's black BMW reversing.

After another quick glance around, he strides over, trying to think of _something_ to say to her.

"You need to come and talk the family through the LCP." 'Inane' he berates himself and looks away.

"Is this some bizarre joke?"

"You need to come upstairs and help them say goodbye properly." He can't be any more clear than that, it isn't the family he means and he doesn't know how she can't understand, unless she refuses to, he doesn't want to contemplate that possibility.

"Why? Why should I?"

"Because it's the end and you need to be there." There's no response from her and he shifts his weight, uncomfortable with the idea of saying something any more obvious. Hanssen also has little wish to remain outside much longer in the cold night.

"Alright, well, if it makes any difference, I forgive you for your ludicrous accusation. We'll never speak of it again." Sahira still doesn't say anything to him and he sighs. "Fine, I will email you with the outcome-"

"No, don't." For a moment he is glad that it's got some kind of reaction from her until her words begin to make sense. "Don't email me, don't write to me, don't... send me your research papers for proof-reading because I'm not interested, just crawl back into your private, little isolated hell and let's pretend that we were never friends."

"We were never friends." His response is automatic, the casual disregard an age-old defence against such comments.

"So that's it."

"You're a very stupid woman." Of all the thoughts floating around his head, that was the one he didn't want to voice but it generates an unexpected reaction from her.

"Wow. Wow. A reaction!" She's had reactions from him all day and he doesn't understand why this one is any different.

"What do you want?"

"Just. Just some show of feeling. This whole 'you wasted my time', this betrayal, just explain." There might have been a time when Hanssen would have relented, would have provided some information for Sahira to guide her to her answer but not today; he has said far too much today.

"Why?"

"Because."

"And who benefits from this display of so-called feeling? Other than you?"

Hanssen grimaces lightly as their attention is taking by the father, carrying his son. He wanted her to say the obvious answer so that he can refute it and end their association on his terms instead of on hers as it has been so far. He moves towards the patient, aware of Sahira moving beside him and Hanssen knows it is probably the last time she'll ever do so.

It seems like seconds until Rafi is there, kneeling on the ground next to the father and slowly explaining what is going to happen. "The procedure that Mr. Hanssen performed will help him feel comfortable. Nutritional status will be maintained We will stop IV fluids and rehydration. This means that his oxygen levels will slowly deplete."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. We'll continue to administer morphine and that should mean that he will feel very little or no pain."

"What actually kills him? The drugs?" Although Hanssen can hear the men's exchange, he isn't paying much attention to it, his focus is on Sahira even though he can't directly see her. They're still stood next to one another, far enough away so that Rafi wouldn't get angsty about it; it wouldn't be the first time that the anaesthetist has confronted Hanssen about his wife. However, they are close enough that if they were in his office, he'd have pulled her to him, for 'some show of feeling'.

"No. The most likely scenario is cardio-pulmonary collapse, leading to a swift cardiac arrest." Rafi chances a quick look at them, checking that they've not moved closer. They haven't, he and Sahira have been running on parallel lines for some time. "In that case, we wouldn't seek to revive him." Hanssen realises that he needs to step in.

"Mr. McMahon, do you accept the course the anaesthetist is suggesting?"

"Do I have any choice?" 'Do any of us?' he thinks to himself, determined not to look to his right. "Is it pointless all this? Is it pointless?"

"How do you mean, pointless?"

"Everything I've done for him, since the day he was born. Just a joke now, man. A waste of time." Hanssen looks to Sahira but she avoids his gaze, almost certainly misreading his look. He gathers his resolve, ready to show some kind of feeling, ready to cater to her whims one final time. As much as it hurts and will hurt, it is for the best that they are parting, let the constant suffering end.

"There are some things we can't fight, bereavement is one of them." He isn't wholly aware of what he is saying, for once just letting the words fall out of him. "I don't know it but I can understand it." His outwardly gentle offering fuelled by his own hurt, his mother's death, the self-inflicted loss of his son, the loss of his best friend. A quick glance to his right, sees her still there out of the corner of his eye and uses that for strength for his final lines. "The acute agony will diminish, to be replaced by a dull ache, which will not go. That much I know."

"So, do we return upstairs?" The man opposite him nods and they both step back as the staff transfer Mr. McMahon from the floor to a gurney. Sahira moves past him and he dismisses her.

"Oh no, it'll be fine, I'll take it from here." They can't prolong this any longer. He pauses before re-entering the hospital and turns to look at her, he can see her staring back at him out of her car.

He had never told her how he'd felt, had never given it a name, he'd come close at times. When she asked him if he was in love with her in his office, he'd said no and it was true, on a technicality. Hanssen swallows, whatever he thinks of Rafi, the man is far better for Sahira than Hanssen could ever hope to be. He waits for half a dozen heart beats, committing the image to memory, before lowering his head and walking back into the hospital, by himself.

Once they have the man settled, waiting to die. Hanssen makes his way back along the ward, up to the nurses' station, Elliot approaches him from the other direction, catching his attention.

"Ah, this was found near the incinerator," he holds out Hanssen's dictionary, "the err, the assumption was, that it was yours." He takes it and nods his thanks to the other consultant who leaves him and Hanssen clutches his dictionary to his chest and makes his way back to his office.

"Mr. Hanssen," Dr. Lo, the new perpetually-eager Darwin F1 approaches him, "I don't know if you know, but I am back on Darwin now and I know you're doing an illium-resection," he looks down at the book in his arms, "I just wondered if there was any chance I could observe?" he offers her a pained smile before his expression hardens.

"Absolutely not." He walks off; she reminds him too much of a 19 year old Sahira Shah. He won't make that mistake again. Ever.

* * *

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